"You can't always get what you want / But if you try
sometimes / You just might find / You get what you need."
-- Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, 1969After the publication of the first report, an
all-campus Planning Day was held to get input from the entire
community on the 12 options. Several trustees, most of the faculty and
many students came and met in small groups to voice their opinions
and, in some cases, vent their frustrations and express their elation
that a tidal wave of change seemed to have been set in motion. To
assure that everyone could attend, Storke declared that all classes
would be canceled for the day, something no one could recall ever
having happened at WPI.

The committee continued to get input from the community through an
ambitious series of meetings with faculty, administrators and
students. In the process, committee members had dinner in every campus
housing unit, including the fraternity houses. Their objective,
Shipman says, was to be sure that anyone with a point to make or an
idea to contribute would have a chance to voice it, and that in the
end, no matter what form the committee's final recommendation might
take, everyone would feel as if he had had a part in shaping it.

For Heventhal, this exhaustive procedure might be the greatest
legacy of the Planning Committee. "When you read our reports, you
will see that what we were really talking about was a process," he
says. "This was just as important as creating an ideal vision for
WPI. The process of planning was something WPI needed in a time of
crisis. The community needed a way of looking at itself and at the
possibilities for what it might become, and it needed to know that it
had the power to bring about change."

HEVENTHAL
HE CHAMPIONED THE ELEVATION OF THE HUMANITIES IN WPI'S CURRICULUM, AND
LATER HELPED CREATE THE SUFFICIENCY.

As the spring ended, the committee completed its second
report. Then it did something quite remarkable -- it disbanded. From
the beginning, many committee members had been uncomfortable with the
idea of a presidentially appointed committee creating a plan that
would depend on faculty support for its success. In addition, the
motivation for reform had come largely from the faculty, and the
committee worried that as presidential appointees, their allegiances
might seem suspect. Now, as the time came to move from a process to a
final plan, these concerns grew especially acute, and the committee
demanded to be reconstituted as a faculty-elected body.

Hearing the news, "Storke was horrified," van Alstyne
says. "Armies are not run in a democratic manner." But he notes
that the faculty was also becoming concerned over the
dramatic -- perhaps radical -- course the committee seemed to be
charting. As a result, few ran for election to the committee's six
slots. Weininger, the demands of completing his textbook and of
preparing his tenure file weighing heavily on his mind, chose not to
serve again. When the votes were tallied, Shipman, van Alstyne,
Heventhal and Boyd were re-elected, but Roadstrum was not. In a bit of
poetic justice, the last two slots would be filled by two electrical
engineering professors: Grogan, who had chaired the curriculum
committee that had ignited the drive toward change, and Moruzzi, a
member of the tenure committee that had unleashed the faculty
governance system. Seaberg would remain executive secretary until that
September, when his appointment as assistant director of admissions
required that he step down.

"That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for
mankind."
-- Neil Armstrong, July 20, 1969That summer, while Protestants and Catholics
fought in Belfast, children starved in Biafra, young men died in the
jungles of Vietnam, the "Chicago Eight" were tried in Judge
Hoffman's courtroom, and Richard Nixon settled into the Oval Office,
the faculty-elected Planning Committee sat down around the conference
table in Stratton Hall and honed their ideas and proposals into
"The Future of Two Towers, Part III: A Model," which
contained the essence of what would later come to be called the WPI
Plan. But lurking within its pages was what one committee member would
later call "a poison pill."

In the report, the committee outlined an approach that united
elements of several of the 12 options, with a heavy emphasis on the
Oxford-Cambridge model. It devised a program in which the requirements
for graduation were based on a student's ability to learn, and not
on his or her ability to accumulate facts through courses. It included
a liberal dose of project and independent study work to "provide
realistic and intimate learning situations for both student and
faculty."

Students would receive their degrees if they successfully completed
advanced-level work on two projects (they strongly urged that at least
one project be completed off campus), a two-year residency
requirement, a comprehensive examination in a particular area of
study, and two sufficiency exams in disciplines other than the area of
the comprehensive exam. The model also stressed the importance of a
culturally vital and intellectually stimulating community to the
success of such a program. The committee summarized the philosophy of
the model in the following goal statement, a version of which was
adopted by vote of the faculty in December 1969:

"The WPI graduate of the future must have an understanding of a
sector of science and technology and a mature understanding of himself
and the needs of the people around him. While an undergraduate, he
must demonstrate that he can learn and translate his learning into
worthwhile action. He must learn to teach himself those things that
are needed to make his actions socially significant. A WPI education
should develop a strong degree of self-confidence, an eagerness to
contribute to the community beyond oneself, and an intellectual
restlessness, a spur to continual learning."

As the summer wore on, Shipman felt comfortable that the committee
had accomplished its objective and should commit it to paper. The
other committee members, however, thought they needed more time to
sort out a slew of picky details that had to be resolved before the
Plan could be declared functional. They arranged for a brief stay that
July at the Fitzwilliam Inn just over the border in New Hampshire to
complete their work. "I've often thought we should put a plaque
up at that inn," Grogan says. "That's where we really
hammered out the Plan."

On July 19, as Apollo 11 astronauts Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin
prepared to make their historic descent to the moon's surface, Dean
Price and George Hazzard, who had just taken office as WPI's 11th
president, arrived to hear about the emerging plan.

(By many reports, it was the work of the Planning Committee that
turned the tide with Hazzard. A St. Lawrence University graduate with
a Ph.D. in experimental physics and physical chemistry from Cornell,
with experience in academia and industry, Hazzard had been involved in
a national movement to reform physics teaching. Initially, he had been
unimpressed with WPI. But after a meeting with the Planning Committee,
he realized that the Institute had an opportunity to transform itself
from an unexceptional college into a uniquely different one.

"That meeting took place in the Gordon Library Seminar Room,"
van Alstyne says. "Ironically, it was the same room where the
Executive Committee had met to submit their long-range plans and where
they had sat in shock when Storke told them he'd appointed the
Planning Committee.")

BOYD
A BELIEF THAT STUDENTS SHOULD DEVELOP A "FUNCTIONAL
LITERACY" MOVED HIM TO FAVOR A PROJECT-BASED PROGRAM.

After dinner, everyone retired to the living room of the inn for
the presentation. The president and academic dean seemed enthusiastic;
in fact, both men would become strong advocates for the Plan and
critical forces to assure its passage and success. "Before he
became dean, Cookie Price had taught for many years in the Mechanical
Engineering Department. He was a member of the old guard,"
Weininger says. "But he was an open-minded person who was willing
to entertain the idea of change -- even radical change. And because he
enjoyed pretty much universal respect in the Institute, and because he
was an insider with unassailable credentials, he was able to head off
what could have been a lot of factional splitting and some pretty
nasty infighting over the Plan. His moral authority kept the place
together." Echoes Boyd, "It took an enormous act of faith for
him to put the weight of his reputation behind this. I really
respected him for that."

Keeping things together was much on the minds of committee members
that fall when "Two Towers III" was released. The more the
committee had thought about their model, which differed fundamentally
from WPI's existing program, the more they realized that it could
not be carried out successfully by the same organizational structure
that had maintained that program far beyond its useful life. In the
report, they outlined a new structure that placed the day-to-day
operation of the academic program in the hands of a dean of program
operations (much like the position of dean of undergraduate studies
that was later established) and a dean of academic resources (much
like the current position of provost), both of whom would report to
the academic vice president.

But the truly explosive proposal -- the one that shocked the
faculty as they returned that September from the summer hiatus -- was
to abolish the academic departments and replace them with three
academic divisions made up of functionally related study groups. The
idea was to blast away the rigid, stifling departmental structure and
promote faculty interaction across disciplines. To illustrate the
concept, the committee included a detailed, fold-out organizational
chart. "That almost killed the whole process," Grogan
says. "It was an idea that was just too far ahead of its
time."

"To dream the impossible dream, to reach the unreachable
star."
-- Joe Darion, from Man of La Mancha, 1969Following closely on the heels of the third
report was a second all-campus Planning Day. The committee also called
for the establishment of nine subcommittees, made up of 74 faculty
members and 90 students, to explore various aspects of the proposed
model. With considerable input from the community, the committee spent
the better part of a year hammering out "The Future of Two
Towers, Part IV: A Plan." The suggested reorganization of the
college was dropped, but the model academic program was fleshed out
into a dramatically different, but highly functional plan -- one that
encapsulated the philosophy of education the committee had been
refining.

The degree requirements were formalized into a Major Qualifying
Project (MQP) -- a significant design or research experience in the
student's major field; a second project, later dubbed the
Interactive Qualifying Project (IQP), which encouraged students to
understand how technology affects society -- for better or worse; the
Comprehensive Exam (later renamed the Competency Exam to identify more
clearly its real intent); and the Sufficiency.

The advocacy of Dean "Cookie" Price, left, and newly
inaugurated president George Hazzard proved crucial to the Plan's
passage and success.

The Sufficiency was the culmination of the committee's
deep-seated desire to transform the role of the humanities in a WPI
education. "When I arrived, the humanities program was quite
limited and the department was really a service department,"
Heventhal says. "Occasionally we'd have a student who would have
done well at any liberal arts college, who enjoyed the humanities
courses so much that he was ready to transfer to another college. I
felt as though these cases were really failures for WPI, because there
was a potential to define a humanities and arts program that would
accompany these technical people in their careers, and not merely
stamp out English majors."

The Sufficiency greatly elevated the role of the humanities in the
undergraduate curriculum (in fact, the humanities component of the
Plan was to be given the same academic "weight" as the MQP and
IQP combined). No longer could students of engineering and science
regard the humanities courses as meaningless credits to be
acquired. Consistent with the idea of giving students responsibility
for their own learning, students chose a theme, explored it through
five related humanities and arts courses, and then synthesized what
they learned in a final project that could take the form of anything
from a research paper to a play to a musical performance.

The committee also proposed a new academic calendar made up of four
seven-week terms. The terms were designed to be conducive to project
work, but were also meant to be short enough to force the faculty to
break out of their traditional approach to teaching. There would be an
"intersession" during the winter break, an opportunity for
community members to teach brief courses on any topic that interested
them or in which they had some expertise. (The first year, 440
mini-courses were offered. For the six years of its existence,
Intersession would be one of the liveliest and most exciting elements
of the young Plan.) Finally, there was a grading system with just
three grades -- Acceptable, Acceptable with Distinction, and No Record
(there was no failing grade, as the committee believed failure should
be seen as an opportunity to learn and grow, and not a stigma
permanently attached to one's transcript). The grading system
represented a compromise between those, like Boyd, who preferred that
there be no grades at all, and those, like Grogan, who feared the lack
of a more traditional system would be problematic for students going
on to graduate school.

"Two Towers IV," the last in the series, was published in
April 1970. Unlike the previous three volumes, which had been bound
with maroon covers, this one was wrapped in green. "We called it
the 'Go Volume,'" Heventhal says. The publication kicked off
an extraordinary series of 13 faculty meetings -- one every week -- to
discuss and amend the final report, section by section. The meetings
were boisterous, volatile and contentious. Strong feelings were voiced
as the future of the Institute -- and the very foundation of
education -- were debated in eloquent and passionate
fashion. Remarkably, the discussion managed to stay focused on the
issues, and rarely strayed into nastiness or personal
attacks. "Voices were raised and tempers flared, but mutual respect
was never breached," Boyd says. "Lifelong friendships were
forged in that heat."

In between meetings, the discussion continued all over campus,
especially at the daily 10 a.m. coffee hour in Salisbury Laboratories,
a longtime ritual that provided a means of campus communication
unrivaled by even today's wired campus, and at the Goat's Head
Pub in the basement of Sanford Riley Hall, a popular place for faculty
members, administrators and students to gather and socialize on Friday
evenings. Two critical changes were made in the Plan: the inclusion of
a physical education requirement and the stipulation that students
achieve 12 units of credit before taking the Competency Exam (an
amendment offered by Chemical Engineering Professor Wilmer Kranich to
give the Plan a better sense of structure).

"It was difficult for the committee to listen to some of the
criticism and there were times when we felt a bit discouraged," van
Alstyne says. "But there were positive moments, too. I remember one
meeting not long before the final vote when a senior member of the
faculty, Professor Dick Cobb of the Math Department, rose to speak. I
could see the smiles on the faces of the traditionalists, but those
smiles quickly faded. Cobb, in his own well-reasoned way, supported
the Plan as the best way for WPI to improve its standing and
educational opportunities."

At another critical point, when a faculty member asked pointedly,
"Who would hire a graduate of a program like this?" Howard
Freeman '40, a WPI graduate, a recently elected member of the WPI
Board of Trustees, and the founder and chairman of Jamesbury
Corporation, a successful Worcester manufacturer of valves, ended the
discussion by responding in a calm, quiet voice, "I would."

On May 29, 1970, the time came for a vote. The committee had asked
that there be one all-or-nothing, up-or-down decision, to avoid the
piecemeal recasting of their vision. While their reading of the
faculty told them that the odds were in their favor, the tension was
still high as the faculty filled out their written ballots. When the
counting was done, Professor James Hensel, the secretary of the
faculty, announced the tally: 92 in favor, 46 opposed and 3
abstaining. After the vote, the victors retired to Putnam and
Thurston's restaurant for a real blow-out, a celebration party few
will ever forget.

Some of those who voted against the Plan left WPI in the weeks and
months that followed, unable or unwilling to go along with this
fundamental shift in the Institute's course. Some stayed and
resisted the changes -- some for decades. Some stayed and did their
best to adapt -- a number of them became some of the Plan's
greatest boosters, and others became some of its most adept
practitioners. In the end, nobody was left unchanged by the
educational earthquake called the WPI Plan.

But when the shaking stopped, WPI was still there, strengthened
from the experience, and in many ways a better institution than it had
ever been. The earthquake completed the crumbling of the
Institute's top-down organization, leaving in its place a faculty
in awe of its newfound power. "At the end of that period, we really
had a faculty," Boyd says. "They trusted each other and they
were terribly interested in faculty governance, which was new to
them. They saw the power of it and the need for it. I don't suppose
you can maintain that forever, but it was nice to be in on it when it
happened."

"The outpouring of energy and creativity on the part of the
entire faculty during the early years of the Plan's implementation
was incredible," Grogan says. "The dedication of the faculty to
the Plan was just remarkable."